


Thirty-three Years, Two Months, Seventeen Days

by DPPatricks



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 06:23:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15989480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DPPatricks/pseuds/DPPatricks
Summary: It’s 2014. David Starsky is a History and Shop teacher in a private high school in a Chicago suburb. He’s been without Hutch for a very long time.





	Thirty-three Years, Two Months, Seventeen Days

**Author's Note:**

> I realize that 'Major Character Death' will keep some people from reading this story, but it really isn't. Well, yes, it is, but I'm a 'happy endings' writer so maybe you'll give it a chance.
> 
> Originally posted on the Starsky and Hutch Archive.net, 9/30/14, this was the first SH story I’d written since 1978. At the time, it was an odd blend for me. It wasn't, and still isn't intended as parody; I cordially dislike that literary form because it’s usually mean-spirited. This story was written with nothing but love for the characters and for David and Paul themselves. I guess it was my attempt to put Starsky into today’s culture and technology, with a little humor and fantasy thrown in. Okay, a lot of fantasy.
> 
> I’ve always loved the rare instance in a show where ‘fact’ and ‘fiction’ are mixed, or ‘reality’ and ‘fantasy.’ I remember being stunned when, in an ‘NCIS’ episode, someone asks Gibbs what Ducky looked like when he was younger. After a moment’s hesitation, Gibbs dead-pans, “Illya Kuryakin.” I’d said it out loud (with his middle name added) as soon as the question had been asked but when Gibbs ‘repeated’ it, I was flabbergasted. Similarly, in the first episode of ‘Stargate SG-1,’ Captain Carter is telling her new team how she and her colleagues had to ‘MacGyver’ the DHD to make it work. And this with Richard Dean Anderson standing there, looking only slightly nonplussed. I thought it was brilliant. Then, in a ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ episode, her three nemisis..es, Warren, Andrew and Jonathan, have trapped her in a time loop and Andrew says he hopes she catches on faster than Mulder and Scully did, referring, of course, to the ‘X-Files’ own time loop episode.
> 
> Lovely mixes of ‘reality’ and ‘fantasy.’ That’s sort of what I’ve tried to do here. Hope you like it.
> 
> Sincere thanks to taass for her feedback and suggestions. She helped me make this story better.

“Mr. Starsky, what’s going on out there?”

“Tell us something, Mr. Starsky. Please? _Anything_!”

David Starsky turns from the windows and looks at the frightened faces of his Sophomore History class. Fifteen year olds who have already experienced more of the horrors of life than most fifteen year olds of his own generation ever did. Horrors seen via television coverage of wars, terrorist attacks, school shootings, political scandals, financial collapses, corporate shenanigans; horrors brought home by family members and friends trying to piece their lives back together after 9/11 and recent conflicts in the Middle East; horrors no kid should have to deal with. But this, today, is something they are all going to have to deal with. He looks at the tall youth who has asked the last question.

“I don’t know, Kyle. I can’t see much of anything.”

Another voice speaks up. “Then tell us what you _can_ see, Mr. Starsky.”

Starsky turns back to the window. “More squad cars are arriving all the time. They’ve set up a barricade across the street from the green. I can see a SWAT van, the Mayor’s Task Force van and a whole bunch of other vehicles I can’t identify. Lots of rescue vehicles and fire trucks. And this is only one side of the school. Who knows what all’s out there on the other sides.”

“Can you see if our parents are out there?” This from a girl who looks like she shouldn’t be out of elementary school yet.

“I can’t see any of them, Pam, but I’m sure they’re there. Now, please get back behind the bookcases. Okay?”

The classroom furniture has been piled and stacked around the very back corner of the room, as far away from the windows as possible, and the 15 young people are crowded in behind the barrier. A few braver ones, such as Kyle, have crept out into the room a ways, but now, at Starsky’s urging, go back.

“What’s _taking_ so long?!” Kyle wants to know. “Why doesn’t somebody _do_ something?”

Starsky moves away from the window a few unsteady steps, leaning heavily on his walking sticks. He was doing pretty well today, until this happened. Now, he’s been standing at the windows for what seems like hours, and his legs are almost ready to give out. He leans against one of the sheltering bookcases and tries his very best to be positive and not allow his own, and his students’ spirits to sag.

“Look, I’m sure everybody out there is doing their best to keep things from escalating, to keep a lid on.”

“What do you think they want?” Again, the question comes from Kyle, who seems to have taken up the role of spokesperson for the group.

Starsky can only shrug. “Not a clue.”

A rather geeky-looking boy raises a hand, tentatively.

“Yes, Roger?”

“It’s not a student, is it, Mr. Starsky? One of us? Goin’ around shooting teachers and kids?” He looks at the fearful faces of his classmates. “Like Columbine, and all those other schools?”

“No, Roger. I don’t think it’s a student. You heard the voice over the P.A. That was definitely an adult. And he said “we,” when he gave the orders for everyone to stay in their classrooms. Also, I don’t believe a student would have been able to pull off the lock-down we’re under.”

Pamela suddenly holds up her iPhone: “Up to now, it hasn’t been on the news. But somebody found out about it and it’s on FaceBook. See?” She passes her phone around and everybody cranes to look at the screen.

When the phone reaches Starsky, he stares at the image being uploaded, live. It’s a long shot of the school, from at least a block away, showing all the frantic activity behind the barricades. Musingly: “Cops didn’t have time to clear all the buildings and confiscate all the cell phones. I’m surprised it took as long as it did to get this online.”

Kyle is in his take-charge mode again. “We gotta do something, Mr. Starsky. Isn’t there _any_ way we can help?!”

Starsky has to protect his students; he can’t allow anyone to do something foolish or reckless.

“No, Kyle, there’s nothing we can do, except stay here and keep our heads down.”

“That’s not what you would have done before!”

Starsky is a bit stunned. “What are you talking about?”

“When you were a cop! You’d have _done_ something! You and your partner are famous for impossible rescues!”

Starsky is truly taken aback; he had no idea they knew anything about his past. “What do you know about that part of my life, Kyle?”

Pam can’t keep silence any longer. “We know everything, Mr. Starsky. You’re a legend. You and Hutch took down so many criminals, broke up drug empires, snuffed bad guys….”

“Now, wait just a second here.” He looks around at the eager faces staring at him. “Where are you getting all this?”

“We Googled you.”

“You _what_?”

But Roger doesn’t believe that response. “Oh, come on, Mr. Starsky, you’re not that computer illiterate. I see you on Google all the time. You mean you’ve never looked yourself up?”

Starsky is completely dumbfounded. “No.”

Pamela, who has her phone back, has accessed the internet and pulled up a website. She holds the phone up, triumphantly. “Well, you should! There are lots of websites out there dedicated to you and your partner. You’re legends!”

Starsky can’t take much more of this. He drags a chair out from behind the barricade and sits down heavily, his sticks across his knees.

“What’s going on here? How do you kids know about me and Hutch?”

Slowly, all fifteen of his students crowd around his chair and sit on the floor. Kyle takes up his role again. “We heard about you from the class ahead of us. And they heard about you from the class ahead of them, I guess. You’re famous, Mr. Starsky. Like we said.”

Starsky still can’t get his head around it. “But, why?”

“ _Why_? Because you’ve _done_ it. You’ve been _out_ there, you know what it’s like to fight the evil. You’ve _won_ … Sometimes.”

Suddenly, all the kids seem to have something to say and it all rolls over Dave Starsky like a tidal wave.

“Gunther.” “Forest,” “Bellamy.” “Humphries.” “Vic Monte.” “Henderson.” “Marcus.” “Poison.” “Plague.” “Stabbing.” “Shooting.” “Ambush.”

Starsky holds up his hand and the kids, reluctantly, fall silent. He looks at each of their faces, seeing only intense sincerity.

“You’ve got it all wrong.”

A young man, Geoffrey, who hasn’t spoken before, quietly takes the floor. “No we don’t, Mr. Starsky. We’ve read everything we can find about you and your partner. You’re both our heroes.”

Pam raises her hand, unsure of herself, but wanting to hear the real story. “Tell us about Hutch, Mr. Starsky. Please.”

It takes a few moments, but, finally Starsky realizes that, maybe, this is a good way to keep their minds off what’s happening in and around the school. So he gathers his thoughts; where to begin. “You know his name, Ken Hutchinson.” They all nod. “You know he was from Duluth.” More nods. “He was my best friend. We met at the police academy in 1969. That was the year of the first moon landing. None of your parents was even a glint in their parents’ eyes yet. It was a very long time ago.”

He loses himself in the memories for too long, so they verbally nudge him. “When did you get to be partners?”

Starsky is shaken out of his reverie, picks up his story. “Two years out of the academy. Then Dobey, that’s Captain Harold Dobey, chose us for his brand new Zebra Unit.”

“Zebra 3” is almost shouted by several voices.

Starsky has to smile. “Yes. We were Zebra 3.”

Another voice makes itself heard: “And the Torino! Was it as cool as all the websites say it was?”

Starsky smiles again, wider this time. “It was a Detroit monstrosity. A real gas guzzler. But,… yeah, it was cool…. I loved that car.”

“Hutch didn’t. He had terrible things to say about it. I read ‘em!”

“Well, that’s what you need to understand about me and Hutch. We always kidded each other, teased each other, joked about our habits, our likes and dislikes. We were always on each other’s case about our cars, our eating habits, our clothes… our women… But it was always in fun.” He hesitates for a moment, then adds: “Or… almost always.”

Pam, who seems to be one of the most knowledgeable about all things pertaining to the Duo, can’t suppress a soft, “Kira.” And someone else murmurs “Amnesia.”

Starsky shoots them a sharp look, but Pam smiles shyly and he finds he can’t be angry or offended. “You guys are good.”

“Tell us about Gunther,” says Roger.

This is going to be tougher, requiring a few more deep breaths and thought. “James Marshall Gunther. The man who could have been President but decided it would have been a step down in power.”

They might have known the fact, but hearing it said aloud makes it more impressive.

“He sent his assassins after us. Dressed as cops and driving a black-and-white, they came into the police garage one morning and began shooting.”

Even more than thirty years after the event, that morning still stops Starsky in his verbal tracks.

Kyle voices their collective view, softly: “Hutch yelled at you to get down but you realized that, if you did, the bullets from the weapon pointing at you would probably be able to go right through the car and hit Hutch, too. So you stood there and drew their fire high… Did you really do that, Mr. Starsky? Did you really sacrifice yourself to save your partner?”

Starsky returns Kyle’s gaze but then looks down at his hands. “I honestly don’t know if it was a conscious decision or not, Kyle.” With a deep sigh, he looks back up at the expectant young man. “But I do know I’d have done anything to protect Hutch. He was my best friend. My partner. I loved him. More than I’ve ever loved anyone in my whole life.”

“But he wouldn’t let you die. Isn’t that right, Mr. Starsky?”

“Yes, Pam, that’s right. I remember him holding me in his arms, there in the police garage, telling me to hang on, stay with him, keep looking at him; he wouldn’t let me go… And, when I was in the coma, I knew he was holding onto me with his mind, his heart, his soul. It was my lifeline. He never let me go.”

Pam and several of the other girls are silently crying; a few of the boys are swallowing around large obstructions in their throats.

“Were you lovers?” This comes from a voice in the back row, but Starsky can’t see who has asked. He smiles fondly in the voice’s direction.

“If you mean, were we gay? No. We weren’t. We probably would be if we were thirty-two years old right now, and were able to live in this more enlightened culture. But, back then, it wasn’t something we ever really thought about. We loved each other, would have done anything for each other, but we weren’t _in_ love with each other. If you can understand the distinction.”

There is a long silence, while everyone considers their separate thoughts. Then Roger, asks another tentative question: “Would you tell us about that final ambush, Mr. Starsky?”

Another tough one. Maybe even tougher, considering the outcome. “Ben Forest had been in prison for almost five years. He was a drug lord we had put away.”

A girl, Jessica, can’t keep silent any longer. “Is it true he kidnapped Hutch and got him addicted to heroin?!”

Starsky is truly shocked that that bit of knowledge has made its way onto the internet. “Where did you hear that, Jessie?!”

She looks embarrassed and shrinks behind her classmates. “It’s on one of the sites I read.” While Starsky is trying to come up with something to say, she re-asks the question. “Is it true?”

Starsky realizes there’s no earthly reason to deny it any longer. “Yes. It’s true. Forest had Hutch kidnapped and held for four days. Four days during which he was forcibly injected with heroin, then strung out so that he’d give up the information Forest wanted. When he finally escaped, I was able to find him and take him to a safe place where he could kick it.”

“Cold turkey?!”

Starsky awards Roger a small smile. “Yes, Roger. Cold turkey. It was the longest forty-eight hours of our lives, up to that time. Neither of us ever forgot a minute of it, but he kicked it. And we managed to put Forest away. For almost five years anyway.”

Memories overwhelm Starsky again and he stops for a few moments. But these kids aren’t to be denied now, they want more. “What happened then?”

Starsky looks up, gathers his thoughts and gets back on track. “Then he managed to change identities with another inmate, who was due for early release, walked out of the prison, and vanished.” The kids are thunderstruck; this was something they’d never read about. Although they probably have lots of questions, no one can think of how to ask.

Finally, Starsky continues. “We didn’t learn about the escape for a few days and, by that time, he was out of the country. We discovered, much later, that he had gone down to South America, where his drug contacts were, and dropped off the radar. A year or so later, a new figure appeared on the drug scene in L.A. Some honcho from Ecuador who came with a whole organization and distribution network. We should have realized it was Forest, but we didn’t. His cover was solid. Anyway, we gathered info and evidence for about six months, figured we had enough to bust him, and set up the operation. Of course, what we realized later was he was the one setting _us_ up. Things didn’t go exactly as he had planned though; we had a few tricks up our sleeves ourselves, including the Feds. It turned out to be a very bad day for everyone. Four cops, two Federal agents, and eight of Forest’s people, including Forest, himself, were killed. Ten more, on both sides, were wounded.”

Pam’s voice is very small and soft: “Hutch was one of the four. You were one of the ten.”

“I got off easy that day, compared to Hutch. The steering wheel and column deflected most of the bullets, I ended up with one in the belly, and it lodged next to my spine.” He tries to smile at the intense faces watching him. “Most days I get around pretty well.”

More long moments of thought and some shifting around on the floor; this has taken a while. Finally, Roger breaks the uneasy silence. “There’s not much on the ‘net after that, Mr. Starsky. Could you tell us how you managed to keep going? I mean… you’d lost your best friend. You were hurt… What happened?”

Starsky finds that, instead of being painful, all the memories and reflection have had a healing effect. He hasn’t felt quite as much at peace in many, many years. He finds he can actually smile at Roger’s prodding.

“Well, after I got as much better as I was ever gonna get, I knew I couldn’t be a cop any more. Oh, they wanted me to take a desk job, push paper, order other cops around, but I nixed that idea. If I couldn’t be a street cop, Hutch’s partner, I was going to have to think of something else to do. So I used my disability checks and went back to school. Got my degree. And decided I wanted to be a teacher. So I got my masters and went looking for a job. I had to take substitute positions for a lot of years because no school wanted an old man like me, met and married my wife, Catherine…” Here he smiles at Pam, who is staring at him with rapt attention. “… She was lots younger than I was. Had our son, Kenneth, then found this place. I couldn’t have been more surprised when they offered me a full time job. I thought no school would ever want someone my age. That was in ‘99. Been here ever since.”

His memories are suddenly mixed again. “Catherine died five years ago. I miss her an awful lot. Kenny’s doing great though; he’s completing his masters in criminal justice and wants to apply to the L.A. police academy as soon as he has that piece of paper in his hand.” He smiles, ruefully. “Can’t seem to talk him out of it.”

Suddenly, having said more than he ever intended, and probably more than he should have, Starsky gets up and walks slowly back to the windows. “Thanks for listening to all that, kids, but please get back behind the bookcases, now.”

Reluctantly, they all do as he asks, exchanging all kinds of excited looks.

At the window, Starsky adjusts the blinds, scans the entire yard. His eyes move across the police barricade, not really looking for anything special, just checking everything, as his training taught him to do. Suddenly, his eyes track back to an anomaly, something he’s never seen before. It looks like a figure, human-shaped, human-height, male, not female, but it… glows softly. It gives off an almost golden light; it shines, as if a star had come to earth in this slowly moving form. Starsky stands, transfixed. As the figure moves through the barricades, it doesn’t glow brightly enough to attract attention; no one seems to see it, concentrated as they all are on their own tasks; it’s as if it doesn’t exist.

As the figure crosses the green toward Starsky’s windows, it begins to shine more brightly and resolve itself into a man, about 6 feet tall, wearing a plaid shirt over an orange zip-front t-shirt, new-looking blue jeans, and brown boots. The hair is so golden blond it seems to shine with its own luminosity, over and above the increasing glow from the figure itself. Starsky knows without a doubt in his mind that it’s Hutch. The Ghost of Hutch, Hutch’s Ghost, the Spirit of Hutch Past. The one person/spirit/ghost he’d have gladly sold his soul to see. And here he is, walking right through the window wall of his classroom, back into his life.

Without a second thought, Starsky drops his walking sticks and throws himself at the figure, but instead of being held in the loved arms, he goes right _through_ his partner’s body and is almost paralyzed by the impossibly icy feeling: as if he’d been hit with fifty gallons of freezing water. He turns around, slowly, trying mightily to keep his balance, moves carefully back, _around_ the apparition, picks up his sticks and leans heavily on them.

Hutch, for it is, indeed, Hutch, looks sheepish. “I… I guess you can see me, then, huh, Starsk?”

Starsky tries to keep the tears out of his voice. “Uh, yeah… I can see you… Shouldn’t I be able to?”

“Well, w… we weren’t sure. They said they’d give me enough extra power to be able to manifest, but we… we just weren’t sure.”

Starsky takes a second to glance toward his students, who are all spilled out around the bookcases, mouths open in stunned amazement. Starsky can’t help but smile as he turns back to Hutch. “I don’t think you need to worry about ‘manifesting.’” He nods toward the back of the room. Hutch looks over and sees the kids staring at him.

Starsky is almost giddy. “I guess introductions are in order… Class? This is Detective Kenneth Hutchinson… Hutch? This is my Sophomore History Class.”

Hutch looks embarrassed; he hadn’t planned on quite this kind of entrance. “Uh… Hi.”

The entire class erupts with various forms of “Hi, Hutch!”

Starsky’s first priority is still his students and he speaks rather sharply. “Back into the shelter! Now. Come on, Kyle, get ‘em back in there, please.”

Reluctantly, they comply, grumbling and trying for more views of their teacher and his ghost partner.

Starsky takes a tentative step forward, transfers his right stick to his left hand and lifts that now-unencumbered hand toward Hutch’s chest. But Hutch puts both his hands up in a fending-off gesture and takes a small step backward. “Sorry, Starsk. I can’t touch you.” His soft, sorrowful voice almost tears Starsky apart. But he nods, accepting, takes his right stick back; leans heavily on both again.

“Okay. So, what’s up? What are you doin’ here?”

Hutch takes a small step forward, lowers his voice. “We need your help.”

“‘We’?”

Hutch jerks his head back over his shoulder. “The others, like me, outside. We’re here to try to get everybody out of this mess alive. We’re sick and tired of this kind of thing goin’ down and not doing anything to help.”

Starsky isn’t sure about any of this. But he’s more than willing to go along with whatever this ghost/apparition/spirit in front of him wants. It’s more than he ever dreamed possible, just to see Hutch again. “What can I do?”

Hutch gestures toward the classroom door. “Come with me?”

“Anywhere.”

Hutch has to smile at that, starts toward the door. Starsky turns to follow, then stops and addresses Kyle, who has stayed just outside the bookcase barricade. “Kyle, I have to leave for a little while. Make sure everyone stays down, behind those cases. Don’t come out for any reason, until I, or someone else you know personally, tells you it’s okay. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Starsky.”

“Good. Take care of everyone.”

“I will, sir.”

At the door, Hutch decides he’d better say one last thing to the students. “Uh, Kyle? Everyone, in fact?” Fifteen heads look over the bookcase. “You guys had better talk among yourselves and decide how you’re going to handle the questions. Seeing ghosts isn’t the best thing to put on a resume. Talk to Starsky, here, when he gets back, but try to come up with a reasonable explanation about how he got through this lock, and do your very best to avoid reference to ghosts or spirits or apparitions and the like. Even to your parents, unless you have very broad-minded parents. This is a secret I strongly suggest you keep among yourselves. If you possibly can.” Seeing their confusion, he does his best to mollify them. “I just don’t want to see any of you get into trouble, down the line. Okay?”

The young people exchange looks, and then various versions of “Sure, Hutch.” “Yes, sir,” “Okay.” “Whatever.”

Starsky has a quirky grin on his face as he tells the kids: “It’s always wise to take the advice of Detective Kenneth Hutchinson.”

Hutch takes a playful swipe at Starsky’s shoulder, missing by the proverbial mile, as he passes his hand over the electronic lock and there’s an audible click. “Come on, turkey, let’s go clean up this mess.”

Starsky punches the handicapped access panel on the wall and the heavy, solid-core door swooshes open. Hutch stands slightly aside, exchanging one last cautionary look with Kyle, as Starsky walks out of the room. Hutch turns and follows him; the door closes behind them. Hutch must have re-engaged the lock, because it clicks again. Kyle and all the other kids exchange looks of amazement, happiness, sadness, and all emotions in between.

The partners walk along the hallway slowly, Hutch matching Starsky’s deliberate stick-aided speed.

“How many of you are out there?”

“Nine.”

“But you’re the only one in here?”

“Unfortunately. No one else inside had a strong enough connection to one of us.”

“So. It’s….”

“Me and thee, partner.”

Suddenly, Starsky almost collapses, has to brace himself, leaning heavily on his sticks, choking on his sudden tears. “Oh, God, Hutch, you don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear those words again.”

Hutch doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, so softly Starsky has to stop breathing in order to hear him: “Thirty-three years. Two months. Seventeen days.”

During the final two words, Starsky looks up at Hutch’s haunted, haggard, loving face. Swallows his tears. “Okay. So you do know.”

Hutch smiles that achingly beautiful smile he always saved for Starsky. “Yeah, Starsk. I know.”

Starsky can finally breathe again but he’s very tired all of a sudden. “Can we sit down a minute? Please? I really need to sit down.”

Hutch is immediately apologetic, looks around quickly, points to a stairway in the intersection they’re standing in. “Sure, Starsk. Of course. Here. Let’s sit on the stairs. If that’s okay?”

“Sure. Great. I can sit on the stairs.”

They move over and sit, Starsky trying to be as unclumsy as possible. Hutch smiles tenderly as he watches. Starsky puts his sticks across his knees, folds his arms on top of them; breathes deeply, trying to swallow the boulder in his throat. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Hutch knows Starsky needs to talk now, to the one person he’s needed, and hasn’t been able to connect with for such a very long time.

“Talk to me, Starsk. I’m here now.”

“I was floating again, like after Gunther; just floating, and hurting. It was dark and I was scared. And alone. But then you found me. And I thought everything was gonna be okay. Again. It wasn’t, of course, but I thought, for just a minute… that everything was gonna be okay. Then you said you had to leave. This time, you had to leave. But… but you wanted me to stay. You said you needed me to stay.”

“You remember that?”

“‘Course I remember that.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I didn’t want you to go. But, if you had to leave, I wanted to go with you. Didn’t want you to leave me there, alone. But you said you needed me to stay. For a while anyway. And go on. Not just for me, but for you, too. You said I had to go on, for both of us.”

“You remember.”

“I remember.” Starsky tries his best to stay in control, not wanting to hurt Hutch any more than he’s already hurting. “It was the toughest thing I ever tried to do, Hutch. Go on. Without you.”

Finally, Starsky gives up the pretense of control and allows the tears to flow freely, he just folds him arms around his stomach and cries as he continues.

“Sounds so easy, ya know? Just get on with it, go on with your life like nothing’s happened. But of course, everything had happened. You were gone. Half of _me_ was… gone.” He knows every word he’s saying is tearing Hutch’s heart but he can’t stop. Still, he tries to make the words sound less harsh; reaches a hand out to touch Hutch’s knee; stops, remembering the tactile sense won’t be there. “Oh, I knew you couldn’t have lived through what they did to you. Dobey told me you took one in the head and two through the heart.” He closes his eyes, remembering the day his Captain had finally broken down and told him. “Even you couldn’t have lived through that.” He attempts a small smile; looks up into the eyes he has hungered to see again. “Not even you.” Hutch tries to return the smile, and almost succeeds.

“So I stayed. And I got better. Dobey and Edith and Huggy, and Ma; they were all great. But they couldn’t do what you did for me after Gunther, so it took a lot longer, and was an awful lot harder. But I did it, Hutch. I did it, for both of us.”

“I know.”

“I know ya know. I talked to you. All the time. When nobody was around, o’ course. I told ya how bad I hurt and how much I missed you. How much I loved you. Oh, God, Hutch…..”

In his own agony, Hutch instinctively reaches for his partner, desperate for the one sense denied to them; stops just before ‘contact’ but allows the proximity to convey at least some of his understanding. And Starsky does understand. “You were there. I know you were. I even heard you answer me. Sometimes.”

“You heard me?”

“Yeah. Sometimes. At least I thought I did. And it kept me goin’. I knew you were trying to help, just like you always did, in the only way you could. Just by being there with me.”

“I was, Starsk.”

“I know. And I knew it then. But, it was still so hard.”

Suddenly, he has a thought and looks deeply into Hutch’s eyes. “You’ve been there all the time. Haven’t you?”

Hutch actually looks a little embarrassed. “Pretty much. Yeah.”

“You’re my guardian angel! Aren’t you?!”

Hutch looks away for a moment, ducks his head, shrugs his shoulders. “You weren’t supposed to know.”

“Aw Hutch…” Suddenly, Starsky remembers something. “That time, on the rain slick sidewalk at the rehab center, I took that header down the concrete stairs… nobody could explain where the gust of wind came from that spread that huge pile of leaves and grass cuttings onto the steps, breaking my fall. The gardeners almost lost their jobs.” He finally manages to catch, and then hold his partner’s eyes. “That was you. Wasn’t it?”

Hutch just tries his own version of a lop-sided smile.

“And the time Catherine and I came out of the….. Wait a minute, you know about Catherine then, right?”

Hutch’s smile is immediately lights up his face. “Yeah, Starsk. I know about Catherine.”

Starsky takes a few moments to remember his wife lovingly, achingly. “She was a great lady, Hutch.”

“I know.”

“Yeah. She never met you but she loved you. I told her everything I could remember. About you. About us. About everything.”

“I know, buddy. I was there, remember? Some of it you probably shouldn’t have told her, Starsk.”

“Yeah. Maybe you’re right. But she understood. And she still loved us.”

Another thought. “Wait a minute. You know about Kenny.”

“Of course.”

“Of course. He’s a great kid, Hutch, he… oh, shit, he’s not a kid any more; he’s twenty-three years old! I tried to talk him out of it, but he’s going into law enforcement, just as soon as he gets his masters.”

Hutch suddenly straightens slightly, ‘listening.’ Starsky is instantly aware that something’s going on in his partner’s head.

“What’s happening?”

“They’re almost ready outside. We need to get to the cafeteria.” Hutch gets up, automatically reaching down to help Starsky; remembers he can’t. But Starsky hasn’t seen the motion, he’s busy getting his walking sticks in place and levering himself onto his feet. It’s a task he’s used to doing and doesn’t expect, or really need anyone’s help.

“Is that were the bad guys are?”

“Yeah.”

Hutch matches Starsky’s slow but steady steps as they turn and head for the lunch room.

“How many?”

“Four. All the cafeteria employees are locked in the walk-in refrigerator. They’re as safe as it’s possible to be, for now.”

“Okay. So what’s the plan?”

“They’re kinda spread out. Perp One, the guy we think is the leader in here, is sitting at a table about fifteen feet inside the main doors. Perp Two is across the table from him and at the far end. Perp Three is behind them and to the right, two tables farther into the room and Perp Four is sitting in a chair in a cleared space, middle-back, keeping an eye on as wide an area as possible. They’re all watching each other’s backs, essentially.”

Starsky is, reluctantly, impressed. “Professionals, huh?”

“Looks like it.”

“Are they terrorists? Mercenaries? What are they?!”

“We don’t know. I’m not sure anyone does. Yet. The way they’re set up outside, we think they’re assassins, targeting as many high-profile and important people as they can bring to one location. The parents of the kids in this school fit those categories.”

“You bet they do.” He thinks a moment, then asks: “What are they carryin’?”

“Automatic rifles, with lots of ammunition. And they’re wearing body armor. But, since they figured the cops and SWAT teams would be, too, they’ve loaded armor-piercing bullets.”

Starsky may have been out of the business for over thirty years but he knows his partner, has experienced, himself, the icy effect of Hutch passing through a human body, and he still knows basic, good strategy. It doesn’t take him more than a few moments to know what Hutch is planning.

“You’re gonna get ‘em to shoot each other.”

Hutch can’t help but smile, a genuine appreciative smile of gratitude, and relief; he and Starsky will always be on the same page.

“I’m gonna try.”

“You’re gonna take Three and Four, I’m gonna take One and Two.”

But Hutch doesn’t want to even consider that scenario, he wants to keep Starsky safe, if at all possible.

“No, Starsk. You’re the distraction. If you can just keep them all focused on you for a few seconds while I get in position, then you get yourself down, under a table or something. And you _stay there_ , you hear me?! They can’t hurt me, they can only hurt each other. And you, if you get in the way. I’m gonna run all over that room, _through_ as many of them as I can manage, and they should be pretty panicked, not looking at what their bullets are hitting. That’s what I’m counting on, anyway.”

Starsky isn’t convinced, but he’s willing to try to make Hutch think he is. “Okay. Sounds like a plan.”

They stop at the intersection they’ve come to. Across the hall, double doors, with signage, identify the ‘CAFETERIA.’

Hutch holds up his hand, as if to touch Starsky’s shoulder; holds it there, close. “Give me thirty?”

Starsky just nods. They exchange a very long look, making up for more years than either of them wants to remember. Then, at the same moment, they both say, “See ya.” Hutch takes off, down the left hand corridor, on his way to the back of the lunch room.

Starsky can’t keep the growing smile off his face; he realizes he’s truly happy for the first time in….. And, even though he’s not consciously counting, he’s giving Hutch the requested thirty seconds. At the appropriate time, he slumps more than necessary, leaning heavily on his sticks, walks to the double doors and pushes his way through.

Inside the cafeteria, the scene is exactly as Hutch had described, Perps One through Four seated just where Starsky expected to find them. But they all jump to their feet as he enters, bringing the barrels of their weapons up to bear on the bent, elderly figure before them.

Perp One finds his voice first: “Who the hell are you?!”

Starsky looks at each of them in turn, not showing them any emotion, not shock, not fear, not hatred, nothing except, maybe, curiosity. “What are you so jumpy for, boys? You’re not afraid of a crippled old man, are ya?”

But Perp One’s a pro, he doesn’t relax his stance, or his guard, his weapon remains trained on Starsky’s chest. “How’d you get out of your classroom?”

Starsky takes a couple of steps forward, but stops at Perp One’s signal. “In addition to history, I’m also the shop teacher. You don’t expect a little thing like an electronic lock to keep me in or out of a room if I don’t want it to, do you?”

“Okay, you’re a genius. Whaddya want?!”

Starsky straightens a little, taking some of his weight off his sticks. His voice is the essence of reason: “I want you to surrender, of course.”

The four perps all laugh at that, but it’s Perp One who’s the speaker of the group. “Oh, you do, do ya?” He glances around at his companions, then back at Starsky. “You want us to surrender to _you_?”

“Well, no. Actually, I was thinking of _him_.” On this word, Starsky points toward the back of the room, and all the bad guys spin around, as if on swivels, to see a golden, glowing apparition running toward them. It’s like nothing they’ve ever seen, it couldn’t have gotten in from back there, where did it come from??! What the hell is it??!!! and their reactions are various forms of the panic Hutch was counting on.

Perp Four has only just begun raising his weapon toward the approaching figure when Hutch dashes _through_ him. As if doused with fifty gallons of ice water, the perp freezes in mid-motion, mid-gesture, mid-breath.

Hutch continues his straight line race toward Perp Three, who is so terrified by the ghostly vision that has just run through his buddy, that without thinking, he brings his weapon up, the trigger already depressed; sprays a line of armor-piercing bullets into the floor, then up the back of Perp Four from left hip to right shoulder, killing him instantly.

Perp One, almost as terrified as his men, sees the glowing figure running across the room, toward Perp Three. He fires a continuous stream of bullets, exploding cabinets, counters, glass doors, etc., behind the figure but not impeding its progress in the slightest. He doesn’t even realize his deadly projectiles have impacted Perp Three until the man’s scream shatters his concentration. Perp Three has been hit with both Hutch’s icy presence and his leader’s bullets at the same instant, and he dies on his feet.

Starsky uses the chaos to drop his right stick, grabbing the left stick like a baseball bat and, with one step forward, swings for the centerfield seats with an arc that nearly takes Perp Two’s head off. The skull is crushed and the neck broken before he knows what has hit him.

As Perp Two falls, Starsky drops his stick at the same time his right hand grabs the rifle from lifeless hands, turning toward Perp One.

But Perp One is already turning toward him. Starsky’s left hand finds the rifle’s grip and trigger without a wasted nanosecond; the two men fire virtually simultaneously. Starsky’s training and emotions keep his finger on the trigger until the clip is empty, not even registering the three bullets that have torn through his midsection. Perp One drops where he stood. Starsky manages to stand for a moment, only the weapon falling from his hands.

And Hutch is there, cradling him and lowering him gently to the floor. Feeling the long-absent, beloved arms around him at last, Starsky smiles and looks up into the sky blue eyes. “So. I guess you can touch me now, huh?”

Hutch, a brilliant smile lighting his face, but tears coursing down his cheeks, holds him closer, tighter, knowing he’ll never have to let go again. “Yeah, Starsk. I can touch you now.”

“Oh, thank God.”

“Why didn’t you get down, Starsky? Why didn’t you get down like I wanted you to?”

Starsky loosens his grip on Hutch’s shirt, ‘petting’ it instead. He nestles further into his partner’s arms. “Oh, come on, Hutch. You gotta be kidding.”

He looks up and finds that Hutch is, indeed, serious. So Starsky raises a hand and caresses the much loved cheek, smiling his most radiant smile into the sorrowful blue eyes above him. “No way I was gonna let you leave without me again. Just no way.”

Realizing the truth of that statement, Hutch relents and holds his partner closer to him, reveling in what they’ve both missed for so long.

After several long moments, Starsky looks away from Hutch’s face, scans the room. “So, what’s happenin’ outside?”

“I think it’s over.” He ‘listens’ for a moment, then nods. “It’s over.”

“Did your guys get ‘em all?”

“Yeah. The ones that aren’t dead, are in custody.” More ‘listening.’ “Nobody else on our side was hurt.”

“Good. That’s good then.”

Finally, with their connection and all the love unspoken but real again, they begin the process of getting up. But, suddenly, Starsky sits back down, heavily. Hutch drops beside him, worried: “What’s wrong, Starsk?”

Starsky looks at his partner, stricken: “Kenny. I didn’t say goodbye to my son!” Hutch sits on the floor beside him, puts a steadying hand on his arm. “I talked to him this morning, after this whole thing started. They told us not to use our cell phones but they couldn’t enforce that. I had each of my students make one call, just to let a parent know they were okay. And I called Kenny. Told him everyone was locked in their classrooms and that we should all be fine.” He looks beseechingly at Hutch’s concerned face. “I promised him I wouldn’t do anything stupid!”

Hutch puts both hands on Starsky’s shoulders and the most persuasion he’s capable of into his voice: “Starsky, you did _not_ do anything stupid. You did what you were trained to do, and you did it exceptionally well. What you did was nothing short of amazing. You do know that, don’t you?”

Starsky sees the truth in Hutch’s eyes, but he still feels terrible. “I didn’t really say goodbye. I didn’t tell him I loved him. What’s he going to think?”

“He’s going to think his father was the bravest man he’s ever known. And he’ll be right.” He tightens his grip on Starsky’s shoulders. “He’s also going to be very proud of you.” He gestures around the room. “Look around, Starsk. You’re gonna be a genuine hero.”

Starsky’s appalled and doesn’t want to even think about the fact that he’ll be given credit for all four dead perps. “Hutch…”

But Hutch interrupts sharply. “Listen to me, Detective Starsky. The mayor is actually one of the ones connected to us and I have no idea how he’s going to try to spin our involvement. But, you were the only ‘person’ in this room, other than the four dead guys. And the employees who are still locked in the refrigerator. Somehow, a 71-year-old semi-handicapped teacher took out four heavily armed assassins, single-handedly.” He puts a gentle hand on the side of Starsky’s tear-streaked face. “Get used to it, partner. You’re a hero. And Kenny is going to be so proud of you. He knows you love him. He knows.”

Starsky puts a hand over the hand on his cheek, grateful for the insight and support. And the love. “Yeah, he knows.” He takes a few deep breaths and swallows the remainder of his sadness, turns it to realization. “And, if he’s determined to be a cop, he’ll have to understand that ‘goodbyes’ aren’t always possible. Right?”

Starsky was always a realist and Hutch is relieved that he’s able to put things in perspective. “Right.”

For another few moments, Starsky closes his eyes, then murmurs: “G’bye, Ken. Love you. Be safe.” Then he shakes himself and starts to get up again. Not needing Hutch’s help to stand, but accepting it gratefully, Starsky looks down at the crumpled body at his feet.

Wonderingly: “It held up under a lot, didn’t it?”

Hutch puts an arm around his shoulders and gently turns him away. “It sure did.”

Starsky, still a little subdued, but ready to face things again, turns and looks at his best friend. “So! What happens now?”

Hutch puts on a very ‘serious’ face. “Well… I think there’s an orientation period. Then…”

But Starsky puts his hands on his shoulders and grips tightly, amazement on his face. “Ya mean…. I’m an angel now??!” Hutch just smiles. “Really??!”

Hutch can’t contain his heart-felt laugh, grabs his partner in a bear hug. “Yeah, dummy. We’re partners, aren’t we? If I’m an angel, then you have to be an angel, too.”

Starsky can’t believe what he’s hearing. He throws his head back and laughs, then suddenly buries his face in Hutch’s shirt and cries. Hutch is torn by the unexpected change, puts his arms around Starsky and hugs him tightly. “Hey. You okay?”

Starsky can’t speak yet, just shakes his head and holds on tighter. Hutch has no problem whatsoever waiting. Strokes his hands gently up and down his partner’s back, soothing and reassuring just by his touch.

Starsky’s muffled words finally make their way out into the light. “It’s just… this morning, I thought it was just gonna be another normal day. Classes, a boring nutritious lunch…” Hutch stifles a chuckle. “… more classes, then home, a boring nutritious dinner, a phone call to Kenny, some TV, then sleep… I never in a million years dreamed….” He pulls back, rubs his sleeve across his eyes and looks around, his gaze finally returning to Hutch’s face. “… All this.”

Hutch puts his hands on Starsky’s upper arms and holds him at arm’s length.

“So? Whaddya think?”

Starsky makes another scan of the room, then looks back at Hutch. He sighs deeply and puts his hands correspondingly on Hutch’s upper arms, his face lighting up in an infectious grin.

“I think I wanna be an angel. With you! Partners! Again!!!”

“You got it.”

Starsky’s ready to throw his arms around Hutch one more time, but has a sudden thought; backs off half a step.

“Wait. You can do that?! You have the authority? You can make me an angel? Just like that??!”

Hutch laughs again; a deep down, from-the-gut-laugh. “Aw, Starsk. You already are an angel. You always have been… We both have…. We were always each other’s guardian angels. We just didn’t remember.”

Starsky’s having a little trouble with this one. “Really?”

Hutch puts an arm gently around his shoulders and turns him toward the double doors. “You’ll remember. We always seem to forget, between times, but we remember when we’re here.”

Starsky tries to turn again, a million questions needing to be asked, but Hutch just keeps him heading toward the entrance. “Orientation, Starsk. It’ll answer all you questions.”

Starsky seems satisfied with that, and doesn’t even notice when they pass right through the doors. “So we help people, right? We make things better?”

Outside, in the hallway, people are coming from all directions, cops still in their body armor and protective gear first, followed by paramedics and school officials. Classroom doors are being unlocked and anxious questions from inside are being answered, fears soothed. So many people now where, before, the hallway had been deserted. Starsky and a now-only-softly-glowing Hutch keep to the center of the corridor, trying not to freak anyone out with their cold presence. Starsky stares around, amazed that no one can see them. “Hutch?” he whispers.

Hutch can’t help but smile. “They can’t hear us either, Starsk.”

Starsky breathes a sigh. “Oh good.” But his inner-little-kid simply can’t be contained any longer; he surges ahead of his partner, bouncing and hopping like a ten-year-old heading for his first ride on Space Mountain, and trying to keep his hands from flying off in all directions; turns around, bouncing backward as he tries to rein in his utter happiness. “Hutch, did you ever get to see the movie, ‘Titanic’?” Not waiting, because he knows the answer, “Sure you did. If you were with me all the time you saw it twice! Well, you remember that Celine Dion song?” He stops bouncing suddenly and becomes more somber, but still beams at his partner. “I always thought of us when I heard it…. Cried every time, too.” But his sad feelings can’t keep the ebullience suppressed; he bounces backward again, laughing. “Which means I cried all the time in those days ‘cause that song got played a lot!”

As the corridor becomes more and more crowded, Hutch puts his arm back around Starsky’s shoulders and keeps him close. And, very softly at first, he begins to hum the familiar tune. Starsky punches him lightly in the ribs. “I knew you remembered it! Sing it for me, Hutch. Please? Sing it for us.”

As the pair walk through the double glass doors into the brilliant afternoon sunshine, Hutch, his soft, sweet tenor voice tentative, at first, then getting stronger and more vibrant with each word, begins to sing.

Every night in my dreams  
I see you, I feel you,  
That is how I know you go on

Far across the distance  
And spaces between us  
You have come to show you go on

Near, far, wherever you are  
I believe that the heart does go on  
Once more you open the door  
And you're here in my heart  
And my heart will go on and on

The look on Hutch’s face as they move, arms around each other’s shoulders, toward a group of almost-transparent-now-only-barely-luminous figures, is one of sheer happiness and contentment. The look on Starsky’s might bring to mind the phrase, ‘died, and gone to heaven.’

END

**Author's Note:**

> Song credits: Will Jennings, James Horner


End file.
